6 Teachers I Accidentally Called ‘Mother Of All Things Living And Dead’
By
September 4, 2017

 
Mrs. Schneider: This is when it all began. It was my very first day at a new school, and we had just come in from recess. I remember sitting down at my desk and getting out my markers when out of nowhere I stood up, stared blankly at the teacher, and shouted “Laura Schneider, Mother Of All Things Living And Dead, I tremble pitifully in your beauteous presence. I humbly await your command.” I could not believe the words that had come out of my mouth! It’s like I wasn’t even thinking, or my ability to think had been hijacked by an unholy presence intent on sowing chaos on Earth, or something! Needless to say, it was super awkward, and the entire class spent the rest of the week teasing me about it.     
 
Ms. Burkett: What I thought was just a one-time slip up happened again a couple weeks later during music class. Ms. Burkett was teaching us to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on our plastic recorders, and I was the best of anyone! I was so good that Ms. Burkett asked me to perform a solo in front of the whole class. And that’s when, like a total spaz, I turned my head 180 degrees, broke my recorder in half with my bare hands, and growled in a voice unlike my own, “Pervert my body, Mother Of All Things Living And Dead, and pollute my wretched soul for thine own pleasure.” I felt like the biggest goober in the whole wide world. I almost cried from humiliation when I regained consciousness three days later

Mrs. Eninger: I hoped a new school year and the “vitamins” the school psychiatrist prescribed would grant me a fresh start. Boy was I wrong! Mrs. Eninger doesn’t look at all like my mom, but that didn’t stop me from making the same mistake of screaming “Mother Of All Things Living And Dead” at her, this time in a language no linguist can identify. Talk about diarrhea of the mouth! And if that wasn’t dorky enough, I followed that up by spewing black fire from my unhinged jaw and engulfing the entire art room in wailing flames. If I wasn’t already a social pariah, I knew this massive brainfart would certainly seal the deal. Even the few friends I had wouldn’t stand near a big baby like me as the entire school was being evacuated. Can you blame them? 

Mrs. Ramirez: I actually can’t recall a single thing about this instance, but after reading the gruesome police report, it sounds like another embarrassing blunder from yours truly.     
 
Miss Waller: The only good thing about the juvenile psychiatric ward I was sent to from ages 9 to 12 was Miss Waller. She was nice and smart and really made me feel at home in my tiny, padded cell. Sometimes she even slipped me an extra dessert! She was so motherly towards me that I guess it only makes sense I would inadvertently refer to her as Mother Of All Things Living And Dead, too. Our therapy session was almost over, and she was gathering her notes when the smell of my own humanity suddenly became unbearable. Overwhelmed by my weak, ridiculous mortality, I climbed the wall up to the ceiling and begged to “drink deeply the wicked milk of her life-giving bosom.” Gross! I don’t even like girls yet! I don’t know how I’ll ever look her in the eye again if she ever wakes up from that coma.
     
Mr. Dawson: I’ll definitely never live this one down. I had just passed my court-mandated psychological evaluation and was finally allowed to return to school just in time for Mr. Dawson’s unit on space. Right in the middle of his lecture on Jupiter, however, I jumbled my words yet again. “Death is looming, you forsaken vermin, and only the Mother Of All Things Living And Dead can save you from perpetual torment! Repent now or suffer a thousand deaths at Her hand!” Uhh, Earth to Dumb-Dumb: Mr. Dawson is a boy! I must have turned ten different shades of red as my body began to levitate above my panic-stricken peers. Maybe if I had called him Father Of All Thing Living And Dead, my classmates would have been less vicious with their verbal and physical assaults. But you know what? It was right then, as an army of demonic foot soldiers stormed into our reality simply because I willed it to happen, that I realized maybe being popular wasn’t all that important. Maybe the coolest thing you can be is yourself. 

 

 

 
 

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